


Circular Motion, or The Perils of Office Romances

by shara



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 09:32:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4474220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shara/pseuds/shara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thirteen sleeps with Cameron, and <strike>all hell breaks loose</strike> life goes on. Also, House and Thirteen bond over bad Spanish soap operas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Circular Motion, or The Perils of Office Romances

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I started writing this before Lucky Thirteen aired. I actually started this during the summer after season 4, which is why the mentions of Wilson in the story are pretty much AU now. Also, I didn’t mean to, but I think I wrote in hints of House/Foreman…?  
> 

  
For the record, it was Cameron who started it.

Although Remy should probably have realized it was going to be a disaster from the moment Cameron had approached her in the lobby on her way out and asked hesitantly if she wanted to get some coffee. She was going to ask if Chase would be joining them, but something about the determined look on Cameron’s face stopped her, and she realized what Cameron was really asking. And so, more out of curiosity than anything else, she agreed, and they walked out through the snow to a café not too far from the hospital.

Cameron fidgeted the entire time they were there. She kept running her fingers through her hair (which she’d let down, Remy suddenly noticed) and playing with the clasp on her purse. When their coffees arrived, she spilled a little on the tablecloth and then fumbled with the napkins, tripping over apologies. It was obvious that she didn’t usually do this.

“I’m sorry,” she simpered. “I don’t usually do this.”

Remy had to work very hard to keep from rolling her eyes.

They made boring small talk while Remy waited patiently, and with some amusement, through a cup of coffee and four cookies for Cameron to make her move.

“So,” Cameron said with forced lightness, while twisting her napkin to shreds. “Are you seeing anyone?”

Remy smiled down at the tablecloth and felt a pang of sympathy for her, for all her awkward earnestness, and how hard this must be for her.

“No,” she said, looking up and meeting her eyes.

“Oh!” Cameron said, eyebrows arching in perfectly rehearsed surprise. “That’s so odd! I mean, someone like you.”

Remy smiled politely and waited for her to continue.

“So, I was just wondering—I mean, that is—are you doing anything tonight?” Cameron finally asked. “We could maybe—hang out?”

So there it was, and frankly, Remy was a little impressed: the girl had guts, and that had to count for something. On the other hand, she didn’t usually put out on the first date, but it had been a long day and sex would definitely help relieve some of that stress. And despite the awkward seduction and uninspired come-on, she found herself oddly charmed, a little flattered even that Cameron was willing to sacrifice her pride like this for a night with her when she was obviously straight as a ruler. And it didn’t hurt that Cameron was very pretty, beautiful even.

“My place is close to here,” she said, standing up to go and feeling pleased at the relief that washed over Cameron’s face, and the quick, sweet smile.

*

She was regretting her decision fifteen minutes later at her apartment, splayed on her bed with her shirt pushed up, Cameron placing awkward kisses on her stomach. Cameron couldn’t seem to figure out what to do with her hands, placing them first on Remy’s hips, then running them down her legs, then pressing them stiffly into the mattress on either side of her. Remy suffered through two more minutes of her floundering (she was counting seconds in her head) before taking over.

“Here, let me,” she said, sitting up and forcing Cameron to do the same so they were both kneeling on the bed. She ignored the fleeting look of panic on Cameron’s face as she slid her fingers underneath Cameron’s shirt and lifted it up over her head, then pulled her in for a kiss with a hand at the nape of  
her neck.

Cameron was unresponsive at first, frozen against her lips, but as Remy trailed her fingers through her long, blonde hair, damp and curling from the snow, she seemed to come alive, kissing back with parted lips, one hand ghosting up Remy’s stomach to press against her left breast and it had been so long, the touch made her gasp.

She broke the kiss and drew back, saw Cameron’s wide, dark eyes and made a few quick, snap decisions. She pushed Cameron down onto the bed hurriedly and got their bras off with a couple of clever flicks. She then took a moment to appreciate the sight of Cameron’s nipples, hard and dark against her pale skin, before leaning in to lick one with her tongue, lips closing to suck, just once, teeth scraping lightly over skin—remembered with a tingle in her spine how much she loved this, how long it had been. When Cameron made a half-strangled sound, halfway between a gasp and a moan, she chuckled softly, deep in her throat, and moved up to kiss her into silence, enjoying the fact that this felt a little like a power trip, making Cameron squirm like this. And if she seemed to have no control in any aspect of life nowadays, at least she could still do this. And then, Cameron’s hands were in her hair, and her own were attacking the button on Cameron’s jeans, desperate to get them off and press her fingers against Cameron’s clit, make her arch and shudder as she felt around that soft wet space, licked her way along it, made her come with a gasp and her hands in Remy’s hair.

*

She really wants to take a shower, but doesn’t want to be rude, so she tries to think of a polite way to cut this short. Cameron is lying next to her, and though she paints a pretty picture, lips wet and slightly swollen, blond hair resting lightly on her breasts, nipples peeking through the golden strands, she’s eager for this to end.

“It’s getting late,” she ventures, though it’s not, not really, and she’s pleased when Cameron blinks and seems to get the hint.

“Oh, yeah, I should get going,” she says, sitting up and looking around for her clothes.

“You can use my shower if you want,” Remy offers, getting up to slip into her bathrobe. She feels awkward suddenly, lying naked and quiet as bits of Cameron become covered up by rustling clothes, jeans and bra, t-shirt and sweatervest.

“No, it’s fine, I’ll just shower at home,” Cameron says, smiling politely, and then adds, “This was really nice.”

Cameron is not really that good of a liar, but Remy doesn’t mind so much when she remembers Cameron’s fingers digging into her back as she shuddered. She figures there are probably a few kernels of truth in her well-meaning lie and smiles as she walks her to the door.

“Drive safe,” she says, and feels the tiniest pang of fondness when Cameron smiles back at her, genuinely this time, and says, “Good night.”

Later, in the shower, Remy brushes her fingers over her nipples and smiles at the tingle that goes through her. She reflects back, thinking that though she probably wouldn’t agree to do this again, it was, actually, kind of nice, Cameron’s innocence and well-meaning earnestness sweet on her face. She smiles into the warm spray of water, satisfaction thrumming deep in her belly.

*

She walks into the conference room the next morning with a sharp sense of foreboding and actually jumps when House storms in a few minutes later. But House barely glances at her and none of the other fellows are giving her odd looks, so she tries to relax and remembers to duck when House throws copies of the patient’s file at them.

The patient presented with fever, shortness of breath, and blood in the sputum, but he’s only 10 years old so it’s probably not vasculitis. House insults all of their other ideas anyway and orders them to test for Wegner’s.

“He just doesn’t want it to be cancer,” Kutner says to her as they make their way to the patient’s room. Taub and Foreman have already left to check the home and school for toxins.

“Think Wilson will stay mad at him forever?”

“God, I hope not,” he says with a grimace. “I don’t know how many more differentials I can take with Freddy Krueger back there.” He hurriedly looks over his shoulder to make sure House hasn’t followed them.

Remy tries to hide her smile at his nervousness but he sees it. “Oh come on,” he says, starting to grin in his goofy, half-embarrassed way. “Don’t tell me you’re not a little scared of him.”

“He _is_ scary,” she agrees. “But not psychotic.”

“Yeah, as long as he’s distracted,” Kutner mutters, leaning past her to press the button for the elevator. “Speaking of which, I can’t wait till he finds out about Chase and Cameron. That should keep him wise-cracking for days.”

Kutner turns to share a conspiring grin with her, but she doesn’t return it. “Why?” she asks carefully. “Did something happen?”

“Yeah, they broke up last weekend, didn’t you hear—” The elevator interrupts him with a _ding_. “And you heard the rumors about Cameron and House, right?”

He waggles his eyebrows at her as they step into the elevator but Remy doesn’t smile again. Yes, she had heard those rumors, and had even heard some nurses gossiping that Cameron was using Chase to try to make House jealous. She wasn’t stupid; she had suspected that last night probably had more to do with Chase than it did with her, but she hadn’t considered that it might have had more to do with House than anyone else.

She jabs at the button for number 3 with unnecessary force.

*

It takes several hours, one seizure, and the failure of two organ systems, but sure enough, when Remy walks into the conference for their third differential, House’s gaze focuses on her and he lights up, looking as though Christmas has come early.

“So,” he says with relish. “It’s our resident bisexual bicycle.”

She doesn’t even bother rolling her eyes, just mainlines past House toward the coffee.

“So is there a list you’re running through?” House continues, undeterred. “Or is it first come, first served? It’s important, see, because I have to know where I fall in line.”

Remy takes a deep breath, thinking of all the ways she wants to kill Cameron, and glares at the packet of Splenda in her hands.

“Or maybe it’s a _lesbian_ thing,” House says gleefully, breathing down her neck. “If you’re planning on jumping Cuddy next, I’ve got a video camera and a whole lot of—”

“Liver failure could have been caused by the Felbatol we gave her,” she interrupts, turning to the other fellows, who are all staring at her in interest, all except for Foreman, who is glaring at House.

“Felbatol wouldn’t account fo—” Foreman begins to say, but House cuts him off.

“Just tell me one thing,” he says. “How was it?”

Remy turns around finally to face his raised eyebrows and the lecherous glee playing on his features, and takes a sip of her coffee. “Not that great,” she says evenly, and feels a tiny thrill of vindication.

House gives her a long appraising look and then smirks. “Felbatol takes liver failure off the table,” he says, and Remy thinks she sees a flicker of respect in his eyes as he turns away.

*

Cameron corners her in the locker room later that evening, her hair twisted in a tight bun now, and Remy can’t quite quell the anger that bubbles up inside her when she sees her coming.

“Did you tell House I’m bad in bed?” she demands, coming to a stop by Remy’s locker, cheeks flushed with embarrassment or exertion, Remy doesn’t know which.

“Did you sleep with me to prove something to House?” Remy asks her coolly.

Cameron puts her hands on her hips and frowns at her, lets a few beats pass before she finally says, “It’s not that simple.”

“Right,” Remy says, rolling her eyes. She grabs her sweater and closes the locker door, locks it with a swift spin of the combinational dial. “You used me, I get to use you,” she says simply and walks away.

What bothers Remy most isn’t the fact that Cameron tried to use her. It’s the fact that she was completely taken in by her. She totally fell for it, the awkward earnestness, the sheepish come-on; she had actually thought Cameron might have been genuinely interested in her. It isn’t that she’s _looking_ , she thinks as she walked through the front lobby, but it would have been nice to be—

 “Dr. Thirteen,” a voice calls out from near the door and she looks up to see House about to exit, Foreman trailing behind him. “Off to seduce another member of my former staff? Foreman’s available!”

She narrows her eyes at him. And what is it with Cameron and House anyway? What exactly does she want from him? It can’t be sex, she thinks, taking in the graying hair and stubble, the wrinkles, the aura of _jerk_ that seems to emanate from him. And even if it is sex, it isn’t as though House is fighting off suitors with his cane. She can probably have him any time she wants.

“Not tonight,” she answers House in a clipped tone.

Maybe Cameron just wants attention from him, a sense that House notices her, respects her, approves of her manipulative machinations. Foreman had once told her that none of the old fellows could manage to stray far from House’s orbit. They hate him, but are drawn back to him, unable to escape his influence. “Like a black hole,” he’d said. She wonders now if that’s true, or if Foreman just tries to make himself feel better about his own situation by imagining that everyone else is similarly smitten.

Foreman gives House a look as she draws near to them. Then he turns to her and says, “We were just going to get dinner. Care to join us?”

“Don’t listen to him,” House says to her in a stage-whisper before she can answer. “He just wants to get into your pants.”

She catches Foreman’s exasperated look and bites back a smile. She considers the force of House’s influence and the power that Cameron has now inadvertently given her.

“Sure, I’ll join you,” she says, and steps out into the cool night air.

*

The gossip mill at Princeton Plainsboro, because it’s a relatively small hospital, is a lot more intense than most in Remy’s experience. It takes almost two weeks for the rumors and snide asides to die down. Remy suspects it would have taken only half as much time if House hadn’t been fueling the discussion with his own ideas about his employees’ torrid love affairs. But then again, House has always been good at seizing new distractions to entertain himself with.

He’s been joining her for lunch a lot lately. She figures it’s probably because Wilson still can’t quite look him in the eyes yet. Taub and Foreman couldn’t care less and Kutner cares a bit too much. She figures she’s been chosen because she doesn’t care just the right amount. She doesn’t really mind though; she’s found out that when House isn’t being an asshole, he can actually be kind of fun.

“I can’t believe she’s going to sleep with him,” he mutters, stabbing his fork wildly into his cafeteria takeout. “He’s so wrong for her.”

They’re in House’s office, watching a soap opera called _El Fuego del Amor_. He has become obsessed with it lately, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees to watch it daily, listening intently to the cheesy clichéd dialogue while Remy rolls her eyes at the subtitles. It’s oddly addictive though, and she’s found herself caught up in the storyline. Rosa has just fallen into bed with her svelte, tan gardener after finding out that her husband had been cheating on her with his best friend Andres.

“He’s better than that other guy—Rodolfo whoever,” she says, poking at her salad more calmly. “He couldn’t even keep it in his pants.”

“Oh come on,” House protests. “She’s hot, she could have anyone.”

“She’s not that hot,” she insists. “Isabel’s hotter.”

Isabel was younger Rosa’s sister, who seemed to have no real purpose in the show than to strut around in too-tight t-shirts with the barest outlines of her nipples always visible.

“Good point,” he concedes, giving her a measured look. “Maybe your taste isn’t completely terrible.”

She rolls her eyes at him. He was referring to an argument they’d had a few days ago, about whether Brad Pitt or Angelina Jolie was hotter in _Mr. and Mrs. Smith_.

“Brad Pitt is _not_ in bad taste,” she says, repeating her earlier position.

“He is when Angelina Jolie is half-naked next to him,” House counters.

“Oh please, if Brad Pitt was standing in this office right now, you’d be all over him.”

“But then again,” he continues, ignoring her. “I can’t really ask someone who has slept with Cameron about good taste.”

 “You’re just annoyed you didn’t get the chance,” she says airily, enjoying this.

“Please,” he snorts. “I’d pick _Kutner_ over Cameron.”

One of these days, she’s going to chew House out for making so many lesbian jokes when he is secretly the biggest queen that ever did camp, but that day isn’t today.

“Hey,” she says. “Kutner’s not bad.”

“Typical,” House sneers, giving her a scathing look. “Would you pick Kutner over Chase?”

That’s a hard one. Chase is cuter maybe, but she doesn’t know him very well. Kutner is sweet though, and funny, endearing in a bumbling way.

“I think I would,” she admits. “But I’d do Cuddy before either of them.”

“Good call,” House says, giving her a rare smile, and she thinks she might be able to get away with it.

“What about you? Would you do Cuddy or…” she pauses, pretending to think of choices. “…Wilson?”

House freezes; Remy sees his fingers tighten around the remote, and thinks she might have pushed a little too far.

“Cuddy,” he says, and she can hear the lie in the tiny pause before it, the way he turns resolutely back to the screen where Rosa has run into the rain in a white dress to cry about losing Rodolfo.

“Foreman or Chase?” he asks after a moment, turning the questions back to her.

She thinks for a moment before deciding, “Foreman.”

“Me too,” House says thoughtfully.

And then they’re both momentarily distracted when Isabel runs onscreen to comfort her sister, rain trailing tantalizingly down the full, exaggerated curves of her tight white t-shirt, nipples dark against the fabric. After the scene changes to Roldolfo brooding artfully in a dark room, House remarks, “Guess no one except Cameron is willing to sleep with Chase. Although it makes sense now why she wanted to sleep with you—penchant for the pathetic.”

“Well, that definitely explains why she’s been in love with you for years,” she says, and when House smirks at her and offers her his bag of chips, she knows she’s won.

*

Eventually, things seem to balance out into their own dysfunctional equilibrium. She hears something about Chase and Cameron attempting reconciliation and she tries, and fails, to care. Kutner still flirts with her between differentials and Taub still manages to insult everyone with an efficiency that almost matches House’s. Foreman wears his constant annoyance like a heavy coat, draws it around himself, and House—well, House is still miserable, and sometimes Remy catches him staring through the blinds towards his unused balcony, or looking sideways to a once-familiar door as he waits for the elevator.

It’s an off-beat rhythm comforting in its familiarity, and Remy lets it carry her from day to day, distracting her from the crumpled lab print-out buried in the back of her dresser drawer. She’s fine, she reminds herself in the morning, and besides, there’s a nurse in Radiology with bright green eyes who always smiles when she sees her coming. Maybe this time, she’ll be the one who starts it.

 


End file.
